You'll Always Matter
by mindovermatter113
Summary: It's been three years since Sherlock's death. John has built a new life for himself when Sherlock suddenly returns. Now he has a choice to make- the woman who offers him another chance at normalcy, or the man who changed his life forever. Post-Reichenbach. R&R! DISCONTINUED. UP FOR ADOPTION.
1. Attempting to Move On

**I've used this excuse before, and I'm using it again-I was soooo busy. Sorry for not posting anything new! To my previous readers-thank you for reviewing. To my new readers- feedback is welcomed. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer- I do not own Sherlock-that belongs to Steven Moffat and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Any original characters or plot belong to me.**

John's POV:

Three years. It's been three years since Sherlock died. For the first year after his death I barely left 221B. It hurt so much to stay there and constantly be reminded of Sherlock, but I couldn't bear to leave. After losing my job at the surgery, Mrs. Hudson stopped asking for rent, mostly because I think she wanted me to stick around.

During the second year, Lestrade visited me. For the first year, he was sympathetic and let me be. Then, he started to get frustrated, but he said nothing. The only sign was the palpable tension in the air during his more recent visits. This one was different though, I could tell through his body language.

That visit, he yelled at me. He told me that it was time to move on and stop living as a shell of a man. So, that's what I did-well, not entirely. I didn't-still don't- think I could ever move on from Sherlock. Still, I picked up my life. I began working with Lestrade, and took over the forensics. That was how I met Mary.

She was the coworker of one of the victims. I helped her through his death, and we then moved into a relationship. We were together for four months when I proposed. We were engaged shortly after. I think that what attracted me to her was the normalcy. She was a short, blonde woman with a steady job at a local university who wanted two kids. But, there was also a bit of Sherlock in her- a curious intelligence and a spark in her eyes.

Now to the present; we've been married for eight months and now live in a flat on the edge of London. I still work with Scotland Yard, but on a more lenient schedule. Mary, who had been a huge fan of the blog, convinced me to extend the blog into a series of books called _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. _They turned out to be rather popular, so it became a more full time occupation.

I was making a cuppa right after Mary left for a lecture when the door knocked. It had started out as a regular morning, but what waited on the other side of the door would change things. Forever.


	2. Face to Face Again

**Thank you to those who reviewed! I have time today and thought it would be good to update. I think that this story will be between 15-17 chapters max, but I usually let the writing take me where it will. For right now, I have no clue as to what the plot will be. Enjoy!**

John's POV:

Still half asleep, I made my way over to the door. Without bothering to check who it was, I opened the door. Standing there, looking as intimidating and mysterious as ever, was Sherlock. But Sherlock was dead. My mind must be playing tricks on me.

After blinking several times, he was still there, so I hesitantly asked," Sherlock?" He smiled at me and nodded.

"Hello, John," he said in that familiar baritone. Hearing his voice snapped me out of my trance, and I jumped at him. Whether to hug him or punch him, I still do not know. In the end, I did the latter, aiming a hard right swing to his cheek bone.

Sherlock doubled over pain and clutched the side of his face. "John-"he began before I jumped on him again. This time, the impact knocked us both over, and I ended up straddling his waist. I couldn't see straight due to the intense fury and hurt coursing through my vein, so I didn't notice our compromising position.

Our faces were so close that our noses were just a hair away from touching. Looking straight into his usually cold, ice blue eyes, I could see the grief and fear in them. Part of me wanted to stop and apologize, but the greater part of me was still being influenced by the anger. "How could you, Sherlock? How could you do this? Fake your death and leave me to pick up the pieces. Why? Why did you do it?" I yelled in his face.

Looking me in the eyes, he began his explanation, "John, I never wanted to. I had to do this for you-"

"You did this for me, Sherlock? How in the hell was this for me? How was you dying for me? You left, and it broke me! I was alone again; alone to deal with the pity of others and a broken heart. I didn't leave the flat for months, and I didn't talk to anyone. At one point, I was put on suicide watch. So tell me, how was this for me?"

He never did get the chance to answer because Mary chose that moment to make her presence noticed. Slowly, I looked up at her and only then realized what position Sherlock and I were in. I jumped up and was about to speak when she did. "Hello. From what I heard I am guessing that you are Sherlock?"

"Yes," Sherlock said warily, "And you are?" Mary gave him a kind smile and stuck out her hand.

"Mary Morstan-Watson, John's wife," she replied. Sherlock gave her hand a look before turning around to face me. Mary dropped her hand realizing that Sherlock wouldn't shake it and spoke up before Sherlock could. "Well, this is something to celebrate. Sherlock make yourself at home, and John and I will go make some tea."

With that she pulled me into the kitchen, leaving Sherlock by himself in the lounge. We began the idle process of making a tea in silence. Mary didn't try to talk or comfort me, and I was grateful for that. She understood that I liked to process things by myself.

Too soon, the tea was done and set up on a tray. We exited into the lounge where Sherlock was sitting on the loveseat looking around-no doubt deducting the last six months of my life. Mary and I sat down on the couch across for him, and Mary prepared a cup for him.

After setting the cuppa down infront of Sherlock on the table, she began to question him. She asked about his job and what it was like living with John, but carefully avoided the topic of his suicide.

During the small talk I finally got my first good look at Sherlock. His hair hadn't been cut in quite a while judging by its length; it was nearly down to his shoulders. There were new wrinkles around his eyes, which were bloodshot from a lack of sleep. His coat looked like it had gone though some wear. Overall, it looked like he hadn't had a goodnight's sleep in days, maybe weeks.

After nearly ten minutes of idle chitchat, Mary cleared her throat. "Sherlock," she started, "I do believe you never did answer John's question. How was your death for John?" Sherlock eyes flicked to her briefly before settling on me. There was more emotion in them than I had ever seen- sadness, fear, guilt, and something I couldn't identify.

"As I am sure you have heard from the media, I made up Moriarty. That is not true. Moriarty was my enemy and tried to attack me by attacking those I was closest to. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and John. He had snipers trained to kill them unless I jumped. I died so John wouldn't have to."

Throughout Sherlock's speech, I could feel the hurt and anger building up again, and when he finished the dam broke. Wave after wave of anguish rolled over me as strong as when I first saw him jump. In a hoarse voice, I asked, "But you let me believe you were dead."

Sherlock shook his head quickly and reasoned, "If you didn't believe that I was truly gone they would have killed you. You had to think I was dead."

"No," I shook my head, "I didn't. You could have told me you were alive and I could've helped you. Instead, you let me think you were dead. You were being selfish."

Sherlock shook his head again and was about to speak when a loud sound filled the room. It took me a second to realize that it came from. After that, I just shut down and started sobbing. Mary turned around and wrapped he arms around me. I collapsed against her, and my body continued to heave.

Mary turned to Sherlock and told him in a stern voice, "You need to leave."

Sherlock looked at me once again, his eyes filled with even more emotion. "John-" he pleaded, but Mary cut him off.

"Leave, now." Sherlock looked like he was about to protest when his shoulders slumped. It was like the fight had left his body. He gave me one last look before sweeping out the door.

Sherlock's POV:

John had opened the door and was staring at me blankly. After a few moments of silence, he asked, "Sherlock?"

I smiled widely and said "Hello John." Everything froze for a second, and then John was on me and had punched my face. I grabbed at it in pain and began to talk again. "John-"

Next thing I knew, I was on the floor with John straddling me. I blushed slightly realizing how compromising our position might seem. Looking up, I saw how close our faces were. This was my first close look at John, and I deduced as quickly as possible.

Judging by his slightly paler complexion, he had been spending more time indoors than out lately. There were more wrinkles around his eyes and more gray in his blonde, which meant that he had been under a great deal of stress in the last few months. His eyes were red and bloodshot, most likely from a lack of sleep. Overall, he looked awful.

John looked me straight in my eyes and began to yell. "How, Sherlock? How could you do this? Fake your death and leave me to pick up the pieces. Why did you do it? Why?" The anger and venom in John's voice scared me. And that itself terrified me- that I could be scared of John in the first place.

Without hesitation, I replied, "John, I never wanted to. I had to do this for you-" That was all I got out before John began yelling again.

"You did this for me, Sherlock? How in the hell was this for me? How was you dying for me? You left, and it broke me! I was alone again; alone to deal with the pity of others and a broken heart. I didn't leave the flat for months, and I didn't talk to anyone. At one point, I was put on suicide watch. So tell me, how was this for me?"

I never got the chance to answer when somebody cleared their throat above us. Looking up, I was met with the sight a middle-aged blonde woman with blue eyes and a petite figure. John Jumped up off of me and was about to speak when the woman began speaking.

"Hello. From what I heard I am guessing you are Sherlock?"

I pushed myself up off the floor before answering, "Yes. And you are?"

"Mary Morstan-Watson, John's wife." Mary then stuck out her hand, probably intending for him to shake it. Instead, I merely looked at it before turning around to look at the room. From behind me I could hear her say, "Well this is something to celebrate. Sherlock, make yourself at home while John and I go make some tea.

After they left the room, I settled onto the flowery loveseat and began to deduct again. The flat was fairly new as seen from the boxes stacked in the corner. Obviously, Mary had done most of the decorating because the color palette was in hues of beige, brown, and various shades of pink. The couch was regularly used as well as the TV judging by the lack of dust compared to the furniture.

I began looking over the mantel when a picture caught my eye. It was a framed photo of John and me from Christmas four years ago. In it, John looked happy and content whereas I looked awkward and stiff. I was about to get up to get a closer look when they returned.

They settled onto the couch in front of me and set a tray with tea on the coffee table. Mary then began small talk with me. All through it, I could see John staring at me out of the corner of my eye.

After nearly ten minutes, Mary again cleared her throat and spoke. "Sherlock, I do believe you never did answer John's question. How was your death for John?"

My eyes flitted to John before I answered, "As I am sure you have heard from the media, I made up Moriarty. That is not true. Moriarty was my enemy and tried to attack me by attacking those I was closest to. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and John. He had snipers trained to kill them unless I jumped. I died so John wouldn't have to."

John's face was getting progressively redder while I spoke until he finally talked. "But you let me believe you were dead."

I shook me head quickly and began to reason with him, "If you didn't believe that I was truly gone they would have killed you. You had to think I was dead."

"No," he shook his head, "I didn't. You could have told me you were alive and I could've helped you. Instead, you let me think you were dead. You were being selfish."

After that, he began sobbing. The sound of it broke my heart. I wanted to go over and hold him and comfort just as Mary was. But, I couldn't-I was the one who had broken him.

Mary turned and glared at me while saying, "You need to leave."

I looked at John desperately and pleaded, but Mary cut me off. "Leave, now."

I almost protested, but one more look at Sherlock and I knew that I wasn't the one he wanted there right now. My shoulders slumped and I nodded before showing myself out.

From those few moments, I could see how close Mary and John were. And I felt something strong, like nothing I had ever felt before. It had made me feel regret for ever tricking John, guilt for making him cry, and jealousy when Mary took him into her arms. I had to know what I was feeling, and I had to find a way to get John back.


	3. Things Have Changed

**I am so so so sorry this took so long, but as I said in my author's note, I have had a lot going on. Anyways, enjoy!**

John's POV:

It's been a week since Sherlock first came back into my life. In that time, I have had a lot of time to think about what happened. If I'm being honest, it was only a matter of time before I forgave Sherlock, but I was still so angry at him. How could he just pretend to _die, _but then he just pops back into my life like nothing happened?

Looking back, he had wanted to explain, but I hadn't given him the chance. I knew I should hear him out, but I needed time and space. In this week, he's been over three times, but he never made it past the doorway.

Today, Lestrade called me about another murder. Another blonde had been found dead in a local park. Apparently, it was the third in a string of murders that had been spanned out over a month. There were no leads into who it could be other than the profile. According to it, the killer was a Caucasian male who had a strained relationship with a female considering the cruel way they were killed.

"Over here," Lestrade called to me as I was searching the crime scene for him. Looking up, I saw him standing next to Anderson who was probably explaining the cause of death. Obviously, Lestrade already knew considering his bored and slightly irritated look.

At the police tape, I greeted Sally who scoffed when she saw me. I was slightly surprised because in the last few years we had developed a casual friendship. Seeing my puzzled look, she rolled her eyes and said, "Your freak is here."

I immediately knew that she meant Sherlock. Of course he would be back to working as a consulting detective only a week after coming back from the dead. Ignoring Sally, I made my way over to Lestrade and asked him to run me over the details.

At that moment Sherlock decided to make his appearance. "Lestrade I need access to the body! Anderson is being the idiot he is and refusing to let me near it," he huffed out in an arrogant voice. I turned around and set him with a hard glare. He glanced at me and smiled, "Good, John you're here. Now you can help me get access to the body."

Sighing, I turned around and spoke to Anderson. "Lestrade invited him here, and he is head detective, so what he says goes. Sherlock can have access to the body for however long Lestrade deems necessary. You are not to insult him or scoff at him or I will have you on unpaid leave." Anderson, finally making a smart decision, held his tongue and gave me a curt nod.

I turned around again to face Sherlock only to find him already walking to the body. He bent down close and began to make his deductions again. Seeing as this would take a few minutes to get his explanations, I turned back to Lestrade and Anderson. "Please give me your findings."

Anderson looked down at the clipboard he was holding and began to speak. "Like the others, she was sexually assaulted before being killed by choking. The bruising on her neck suggests a male oppose with large hands. There is bruising on her wrists, ankles, and hips from most likely being restrained."

Looking to my side, I saw that Sherlock was once again there. Lestrade asked him for his findings and he began to explain. As always, I was captivated by how much he was able to deduce form such a small amount of evidence.

"Bruising suggests a male attacker and she was sexually assaulted," he confirmed Anderson's findings. "A hair was on her shirt and looks to be that of a brunette. There is still the slight smell of his cologne on her bod and it is of an expensive brand. Judging by the shortness of the hair and the brand of his cologne, you are looking for a male who is well-groomed and has a decent amount of money. From the strong smell of alcohol on her body, he most likely targets his victims at bars and clubs. More likely to be a club considering that she was 23."

"Brilliant," I murmured. I felt like I was three years back to where I would faithfully follow Sherlock everywhere. Sherlock gave me that brilliant smile that I liked to think I was the only one lucky enough to see.

"Come on then, John. I did a search and found a club only three blocks from here. We can go and stake it out to see if there is anyone who matches the profile of our killer." With that, Sherlock turned on his heel and only stopped when he realized I wasn't following him. "Well/" he questioned.

"No," I told him simply. "I have a job to do, and I am not going to skip it just to go to a club with you based on circumstantial evidence."  
He scoffed and arrogantly said, "So you would rather do a boring, mediocre job with Anderson than come and do something beneficial with me? That is pure idiocy."

"It may seem like idiocy to you Sherlock, but to me that is life. Things are not the same as they were three years ago. I have a job that pays well and keeps me busy and a loving fiancée. I am not going to just drop everything to follow you around like some sort of lost puppy."

"John, that is preposterous! You love the thrill of danger that comes with our job! I know that you do. Why are being so stubborn?"

I indignantly huffed and began to shout at him. "That is the exact reason, Sherlock! You don't get to come back into my life after three years of being dead and say that you know me! Maybe once I loved the danger and excitement, but there comes a point where you want to settle down. I've reached that point. So, don't claim that you know me and don't ask me to drop everything for you! Maybe you haven't, but I've change! Things between us have changed! It's time you realize that!"

When I stopped my rant, I noticed that everybody was staring at me. I went a little red at the fact that I had lost my cool around my colleagues. Taking what little dignity I had left, I turned on my heel and left the crime scene.


	4. You Two Need to Talk

**Here it is! The next chapter! Finals are over, and school is out in two days, so my updates will be a lot quicker! Enjoy!**

Sherlock's POV:

Everyone was silent as John screamed at me. I knew he was angry at me: he had made that blatantly obvious in the last week. It was even what I had expected when I went through all of the scenarios of what could happen when I returned. Still, I had at least expected him to hear my explanation as to why I faked my death. He wouldn't let me get out more than two words before he slammed the door in my face.

Another thing I had not expected was for him to be engaged to her. _Mary. _Just thinking her name brings a bitter taste to my mouth. She was the complete opposite of what he wanted. As much as he tried to refuse, I know that he still loves the danger. He was a soldier after all, and he still has a job working around murder. It may be on the safe side of it, but he still works around criminals. So how could he suddenly want a normal, routine life? It just so _boring!_

I have never been good with emotions, but I knew that my intense jealousy of her stemmed from somewhere. As John's friend, I should want for him to be happy, so I know that my feelings for hi are not purely platonic. They have probably run deeper for some time now, but never having been in love before, I wouldn't know how to define it. The obvious indicators, elevated heart rate and perspiration on my hands, are what tipped me off.

Even with the knowledge of my emotions, I am not going to try to pursue a relationship with John. Seeing as how tense things are right now, it is highly improbable that I will ever get the chance.

After John walked off, all eyes turned to me. Without looking back, I exited the scene as well and hailed a cab. I gave him the address of 221B, but I knew I wasn't going home. It wouldn't ever really be home without John.

In only a few minutes, we reached Baker Street. After paying my fee, I started up the stairs only to run into Mrs. Hudson. Although I would never admit it, I had a soft spot for the old lady, so I decided to visit with her for a few minutes.

As always, she had tea and scones ready the minute we walked in the door. After making me a plate, she sat down across from me, and we ate in silence. I could tell that Mrs. Hudson wanted to ask me about what happened, but she was holding her tongue. Finally, I sighed and began to speak. "As you already know, things have been tense between John and me, and I am afraid that I made it worse."

Mrs. Hudson gave me her signature look of compassion mixed with disappointment and something that said 'get your head out of your arse.' "Oh, Sherlock. Why don't you just try to talk to him and explain?" she questioned.

"I've tried to talk to him. He slams the door in my face. Besides, even if I explained, it won't change anything. Things aren't going to go back to the way they were."

"Well of course not, you git. He's got a fiancée, but you love him. Both of those change things a lot," she said as if it were obvious.

"How did you know?" I honestly wondered. She rolled her eyes at my question.

"Even before your little stunt, you two were like a couple. It was not a big leap to guess that you love him, especially with how you are handling the fact that he is engaged to Mary." At the mention of her name, I grimaced, and she smirked when she saw it. "Exactly that."

"That still doesn't make it any better. He's still engaged, and I am left without the one friend I have ever had." At my words, she frowned and sighed.

"Sherlock, contrary to what you might think, you are not always right. If you had seen John after your death, you would know just how much you mean to him. You haven't lost him, he's angry, hurt, and confused. Talk to him-really talk to him about everything. You might be surprised with what you find."

John's POV:

After leaving the crime scene, I went to a pub around the corner from Mary's flat. I still couldn't refer to is as our home. It just felt awkward to think of it as that.

I was so angry, and I felt the need to drown it with alcohol. Sherlock just infuriated me. He didn't understand how much it hurt me when he died, or how much it hurt me that he didn't tell me that he faked it.

Nearly three hours later, I made my way into the flat. It was rather late in the evening, so I didn't expect May to still be sitting on the couch waiting for me. When she saw me, she sighed heavily and told me to sit down. With just a little bit of stumbling, I managed to sit down across from her on the loveseat.

"What's goin' on?" I slurred.

She looked at me and started talking. "Lestrade called looking for you. When I told him you weren't here, he told me about what happened between you and Sherlock. About how you blew up on him. What's going on, John?"

Her explanation made me sober up quite a bit, and I sighed. "I am still angry at him Mary. How could I not be? He faked his death without telling me. Then he gave me no reason as to why he did such a thing. He was my best friend, and he didn't trust me enough to tell me he was _alive. _That would piss anyone off."

Mary looked me in the eye and told me in a stern tone, "John, you need to talk to him. No more avoiding him. The reason you have no explanation is because you haven't given him enough time to offer one. Sit down, talk to him, and you might find the answers you need."

**Well, this chapter is more of a filler, but it was necessary. They needed to come to their senses! The next chapter will have more progress, though. I believe that it will be up in the four or five days, so be watching!**


	5. Author's Note-Discontinued

**Hey guys. This is a brief message to let you know that I am discontinuing this story. I am suffering from a sever case of writer's block, and I have some personal things going on. There have been issues in my family, and I really just need to spend time with them. That is not to say I am going on hiatus, I just can't find the inspiration to finish or write a chaptered story. I will stick to one-shots, but I am not sure how often I will update.**

**Whether or not I will return to this story really just depends on how things play out and if I can find the inspiration. With that, I am going to put it up for adoption. PM me if you are interested and we can work out the details. **

**Sincerely, **

**Mindovermatter113**


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